Thief of Hearts
by WeirdVision
Summary: What happens one night on the city streets when the Dark Knight is on the job...


**Thief of Hearts**

Footsteps. Echoing on the wet pavement. It has rained earlier in the evening. Hard though not for long. Enough to turn the suburb streets into big puddles of mud. The long legs wearing expensive high heel shoes slalom between the puddles as if performing an intricate dance routine, which makes her hips and the long gray raincoat sway in an appealing manner.

She doesn't care, it's not like she is doing it on purpose, it's just the way she walks. She is not looking for an audience, far from her that thought. In fact, she would prefer not to be noticed at all, since it's not the safest neighborhood after dark and sometimes even during the day. It's late. She shouldn't be here, especially not alone. She should be home with her family, arguing over some insignificant details like they always do.

Not her fault her car has broken down a few blocks back. She could have called someone to pick her up and waited in the car, but being a good car it would have drawn attention to it and not the right kind. At least now if anyone tries to steal it, she won't be in it. She grimaces at the thought. Damn, she likes that car. And its owner would be really pissed if she lost it. But she likes her skin in one piece much more than that.

Another alley. Even darker than the previous one. What the hell possessed her when she took this route home? Oh, right, it was late and, in her hurry to get home faster, she took a shortcut. Bad idea. She'll be at least ten minutes late. That is if she can find a cab at the crossways on the avenue. But first she must get there. There isn't much farther to go. She almost smiles with confidence, as if she can already see herself there.

Then her shoulders tense. Her ears pick up something. Something that doesn't belong. A faint sound that disrupts the harmony of the night. Following her. No, it's not that cat hiding in the ventilation of a small weaving mill, nor those two stray dogs roaming around the trash bins, looking for dinner leftovers. It's not something but someone. And he's coming after her. An easy target, that's what she is.

Maybe she's wrong, maybe it's just her imagination, fed by the peculiar appearance of the unfamiliar surroundings and the shadows dancing on the walls. It's not. The sound becomes clearer now so she speeds up the pace, though she struggles not to run. The worst thing she can do is panic, she tells herself. Easy thing to say, but not so easy to do. Not when the pursuer is getting closer.

He has stopped using the darkness as cover and creeping along the walls. He walks in the middle of the sidewalk now. She doesn't look back but by the sound of his footsteps she figures out he's big and strong. She's no match for him. She's got no weapon, only her purse. Would he settle for money? Her jewelry perhaps? She doubts it. The street is empty, she could scream her lungs out and no one would come. She's completely at his mercy, she knows that, and she hates it.

A dead end. Her breath hitches. She can hear the cars speeding on the other side of this row of massive buildings barring her way. She must find a path between them to get to the other side, to get to the light. And life. She hesitates. She can't go back. She can't stay put either. If she does he'll catch her. She dreads the thought. She's really scared now. Her heart is pounding loud in her ears and her breathing becomes irregular and almost painful.

A few more meters. A couples of steps. A heartbeat. A hand grabs her elbow and brutally pulls her back, making her swirl around and collide against the attacker's chest. A gasp. When did he get so close?

"What do you want?" Wide eyes filled with terror stare at the man, the voice barely audible. It's too dark to clearly see his face, but the smell of alcohol and sweat emanating from the man makes her stomach twitch.

"Everything I can take." The answer comes on a hoarse voice. Hands squeeze her upper arms tightly, fingers leaving bruises under the fabric. She whimpers. She'll be lucky if she escapes alive.

He's been watching from above for a while. A woman, a young woman, walking alone on the street in a bad neighborhood. Not the wisest thing to do. Has nobody told her that? He shakes his head and mutters something under his breath. Why are people so stupid? Why do they foolishly persist in giving him so much work to do? What if he wasn't here? It's a big city, crimes are taking place everywhere, he can't be in all places at once. Then what? He'll rescue her now, he saw the thug following her long before she became aware of his presence, but what about next time? Will she learn?

Always the same story, he sighs. A victim, a damsel in distress in this case, he saves her and gets no recognition for doing it. Most of the times the victims are too shocked to even thank him. It pisses him off sometimes, but even then he still does it. It's not a job he can quit, this is his life, his curse, the only way of living he knows of.

The city is his playground, there are no laws at night, only his law. He enjoys the power, the thrill, he's addicted to it and he can't stop. There are times when he pushes it too far. It's not a lack of control, it's mostly indifference. No one ever complains though. They stop complaining once he's done with them. For good. Hey, maybe he'll let this thug live for a change. Maybe. If she's pretty… Or maybe not. It all depends on his current mood.

Her whimper is his cue. He launches himself from the top of the building, hanging at the end of the cord, one of those gadgets he's so used to he doesn't even pay attention to them anymore, cape waving in the air like a modern Tarzan dressed in an over heating rubber suit. He lands two steps behind the attacker, knees slightly bent to take the impact with the solid ground, and the next moment he pushes the man away. The unexpected shove sends both woman and man to the ground, but only the man hurries to get back on his feet. Wrong move, he should have stayed down.

He tackles the thug and they roll together on the pavement exchanging punches, luckily landing in a dry area. He likes it when they fight back, it gives him a good excuse for hitting them so hard. The cape gets in his way though and he swears for the 10000th time to give it up, but he won't. It's his trademark, just like the mask he's wearing. And beside that it's sort of romantic. Romantic, him? Who would have thought? Well, he has to keep his sanity somehow.

More blows are granted for free with the regards of the management, until the former attacker is too beaten up to give any more resistance. He just lies there, moaning pitifully after each new hit. When he sees he lost his opponent and this one is not gonna get up to fight him back he loses interest and turns to the woman. Gloved arms reach for her to pull her to a lighter spot so he could check on her.

"Are you all right?"

From behind the mask his eyes roam over her, registering every little detail. Elegant clothes. Expensive perfume. Too much make-up. A call girl? No, he decides. She's young, in her mid-twenties, with long dark hair falling disheveled over a now too-pale face. Without thinking, his hand gently pushes back a few rebel tresses that have fallen over her face. First impression is that of a fragile one, but there's something more behind that appearance. He can see it in those dark eyes that stare back at him.

"Yes…" red trembling lips whisper.

She's not just pretty, she's beautiful, the realization hits him. In an outburst of anger he grabs the fallen man by the back of his collar and shoves him against the nearest concrete wall. A crack. It was either his skull or his neck. Either way, the man will never get up by himself again. Ever. He doesn't care, she's safe and this is all that matters.

Others don't seem to share the same opinion though. There are shouts coming from further down the street. The rest of the gang has witnessed the entire scene and now they are running towards them to get revenge.

Three, four, five, six, he counts them. Not a problem. He can take them, he could take them all, and he would even like it. He likes a good fight now and then, he wouldn't do what he's been doing for so long otherwise. The fight will have to wait though. He can defend himself, but he can't guarantee that one of them wouldn't get to her while he was busy fighting the others. And her safety comes first. Protect the innocents, this is his motto. Or at least, this is what people seem to believe. As for him, he doesn't give a shit. He just wants to keep her out of danger, so his decision is made rather quickly.

"Come." He reaches for her hand, pulling her after him, and they both disappear into an entrance.

It's an abandoned building. They run along narrow corridors, pass through more or less open doors, climb several flights of stairs, always with the gang close on their tail. She struggles to keep up with him, but they both know she's slowing him down. Is she in such bad shape? He begins to worry. Then, it dawns on him; the heels! Like any man he likes high heels, but not when they get in the way. This is ridiculous! He would stop to ask her to take them off, but there is no time. It's not a tall building, only four stories, and the pursuers have reached the top floor, the one they are on. They can hear them talking now.

Still not the right time and place for a fight. They need a place to hide for a little while, until the men move past and they will be able to leave the area without problems. A room, filled with old furniture. He drags her inside and pushes her behind an empty bookrack. He could leave her there and take them down one by one. A familiar click makes him change his mind. They have guns. So does he. Unfortunately, even a missed bullet can cause a lot of damage. These are paper thin walls.

He doesn't want her hurt, so he pushes her far deeper in that corner, covering her with his own body. The men are walking along the corridor right behind that wall. They can hear their boots stomping on the dusty floor, slamming doors against the walls one after another. In a couple of seconds the pursuers will get to them. He hopes his best friend, the darkness, will keep them hidden from sight. Oh, no, her light color rain coat might give them away. He wraps his cape around her small frame, making it almost disappear inside. Yes, he knew there was a good reason for wearing the stupid cape. Now, if only he could find one for the suit. He can't feel much because of it, although her body is pressed against his as he holds her close. He might consider spandex next. At least it won't be that hot inside.

Her perfume is making him dizzy and the temperature rises an extra degree or two. Is that a rash that he feels coming on? Could he be allergic to her perfume? That would be very bad, very bad indeed, especially in this suit, where he can't scratch. He recognizes the signs, it's something else entirely. When was the last time he held a woman in his arms? About an hour ago, when he saved that old lady from being mugged by a group of teenagers. But she was over seventy years old, that could hardly be called a woman. Maybe that's why he feels so strange. No one has even hugged him in this suit, except for holding on to it for dear life while in danger. He should really get these thoughts out of his head before it's too late. He's on the job here, no time for flirting. His life feels very pathetic and sad all of a sudden.

The door is slammed against the wall, making the woman shudder in his arms, but he keeps her still. Two heads look inside and fail to see them. Wheee, the trick with the cape worked! The men grumble, swear and retreat back down the corridor to kick down the next door. He still doesn't allow her to move and listens closely to the sounds coming from outside. When he assumes they're approaching the end of the corridor, knowing they won't give up and return to double check and look for them, he pulls her out of their hiding place.

"We have to go," he grunts into her ear and walks towards the window.

An elbow runs right through it, shattering glass all over the place, in and out. With an expert flick of the wrist a cord is thrown up and, while one end gets safely pinned to a wall somewhere, the other end is attached to his belt. A strong arm goes around her waist, "Hang on!", and out they go. Flying. She doesn't even have time to scream in surprise before finding herself hanging in the air. Good thing he seems to know what he's doing 'cause she's completely lost.

They stop on a terrace up high and he puts her down for a moment to look back. Nobody is following them, it would be impossible to do so, but he checks anyway.

"OK, you're safe now," he turns to tell her, like it isn't obvious already.

She's still panting slightly after the ride and her hands haven't left his shoulders or his chest. The one wrapped around his neck stays there while the fingers of the other move slowly on the suit, feeling the texture. Her eyes rise to look at his face, though it's partially covered by that silly mask. He doesn't look so scary from close as he does from far, she concludes. She's not scared of him and he can see that in her eyes, a little curious maybe. A hesitating hand reaches up to touch the side of his face and his head leans into the gentle touch. He's so close she can feel his breath caressing her face. Her perfume threatens to make him dizzy again, though it's not only the perfume.

They're flying again, a short one, this time. Enough for him to place her on the ground on the other side of a busy street, right beside a long line of cabs waiting for passengers. Then he's gone. Without his support she stumbles on her feet momentarily as she looks around, but there's no sign of him. Has it all been a dream? It couldn't be. She feels the bruises on her upper arms and her heart beats like a drum. Where did he go? Why? She knows why. She knows who he is and why he couldn't stay. She can still feel him there, watching her. She sighs. Maybe another time. Maybe they'll meet again. Maybe…

From the darkness he sees her walking to a cab and getting in. His narrowed eyes follow the cab until it gets lost far down the avenue in a multitude of cars. He memorizes the license number, just in case. The night is still young, there are places to go, things to do, but all he wants right now is to get out of the unnerving suit and act like normal people for half an hour, so he can go after her and ask her to join him for a cup of coffee. It doesn't occur to him that she might not like coffee. Unfortunately, it takes him about an hour to get out of the suit, and even more than that to get back in. So it won't do. Not tonight. But someday… He can hope and dream about it, he's only human after all. He turns around and leaves, swallowed by the night. But he doesn't forget. Nor does she.

"You're late! Where were you? We called! What happened?"

"…I got mugged..."

"What? How? When? Where? Are you all right?"

"…Yes… He saved me…"

"Is the car fine? What did he steal?"

"…My heart…"

The End


End file.
